


Weapons

by meteoropera



Category: Final Fantasy Type-0
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meteoropera/pseuds/meteoropera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Class Zero was a unique family of it's own. Sice questions Trey about his father. Eight opens up to their only caretaker in the academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapons

**Author's Note:**

> A set of semi related drabbles about Sice talking to Trey over lunch and Eight confessing to Kurasame about his choice of weapons while that's taking place.

_**They're waiting patiently for you to make a wish and they'll break it, like a dry leaf under their feet.** _

\- Dreamer by Elysion

 

"Trey, do you remember anything about your father?"

 

Sice's question caught Trey off guard. The young man placed his fork down and looked right at the silver haired girl seated right beside him at the school's eatery; a red and gold velvet enclosed area resembling a posh bar more then a cafeteria.

 

"I'm just curious. That's all." Sice was in one of her rare moods again. She didn't seem depressed or upset; she was simply contemplating something along the lines of parenthood and family. Trey knew that if Sice was bothered, she wouldn't eat but the silver haired girl was busy spearing a piece of fried chocobo meat with her fork.

 

After all, there were no secrets between members of Class Zero.

 

"Yeh. Somewhat." Trey replied.

 

"Tell me about them." This was the only side of Sice class Zero had seen. The much more docile, politer side reserved only for her sole 'family'.

 

Trey helped himself to another glass of strawberry flavored juice. "I can't remember much of my father. I was young when he stopped visiting."

 

"What was he like?" Sice toyed around with the fried meat. Fried chocobo meat and rice was obviously not her favourite but there was no way she was going to protest against it. Food was hard to come by in war and they were lucky they were even living in the lap of luxury in the academy.

 

"He was a gardener." Trey thought hard. "My mom was an archer. She thought me archery from a very young age. I have a younger sister who is really the typical girl. You know those kinds of girls?"

 

Sice let out a laugh. It was hollow, bitter and genuine at the same time. "Was your sister an archer as well?"

 

"Yeh." Trey smiled sadly, watching Deuce giggle happily about some quiz result Cater received in a teenage magazine. "She's a bit like Cater."

 

Sice looked at her classmate, realizing that he had stopped eating altogether.

 

"Was that why you gave her that pink cardigan for her birthday?" Sice looked at their classmate, who spotted a pink cardigan tied over her waist. It was a simple, pink material and Cater adored it even though it wasn't part of their uniform. Kurasame allowed it as long as it was only being used for lessons indoors. The cardigan would have to stay in her room when it's time for combat training and for missions outside the school. Cater found it a fair bargain from their usually strict instructor.

 

"Yeh." Trey smiled slightly. "I'm sure she would adore Cater as her best friend. What about you?"

 

Sice laughed, finishing her meal casually. "I was born without sight. My world was silent. I never heard my mother or father."

 

Trey waved a hand curiously in front of Sice's face.

 

"Note the past tense," Sice batted her classmate's hand away from her line of sight. "Headmaster Khalia told me that I was thrown to the academy's doorsteps as an infant."

 

Trey felt a wave of sympathy at the seemingly tough girl. Sice cut him off before he could continue any further.

 

"Don't feel sorry for me." Sice turned in her seat to face him. "If it wasn't for the academy, I wouldn't be here, talking to you. I would be a handicapped bitch."

 

"The academy gave you your eyes and your ears?"

 

"Ears that work anyways." Sice chuckled. "I think it's a rather good bargain. I get to rid the world of stupid people in exchange for being able to hear and see. You would agree, no?"

 

Trey smiled. "I do."

 

He didn't see why he should disagree. Like Sice, Trey had no where to go. His whole family was gone. Sometimes, he wondered if the memories of his family were false; fabricated into his mind. It was like those old movies in which the hero woke up to a dying world with a simple, painful truth; he had been lied to for the whole entire time and the family he had been with was simply paid actors and actresses.

 

Except Trey of Class Zero was no hero. He was a sacrificial lamb for a false prophecy. So weren't his classmates.

 

**xXx**

Kurasame was an intimidating figure in the academy and he should be. He was a well feared soldier and student in his youth. As an instructor of the cursed Class Zero, he was entrusted with students who will fulfill an important prophecy.

All eyes were on him as he strode down the hallways, his pet Tonberry following him from the back. His gloved fingers gripped onto a set of heavy, behemoth leather bond textbooks.

 

He was a rather important figure in this academy. Class Zero was important.

Today, he would drill them on the necessary aspects of summoning.

 

It wasn't his favourite topic at all. A summon was an act of sacrifice. The more they summoned an entity to help them in the midst of battle, the more they risk losing control of their thoughts. Perhaps, the least favourite aspect of summoning an Eidolon was the fact that they'll be completely unconscious. The entity will then possess their physical body, shape shifting it to a creature resembling the entity they called forth upon.

 

That process would then be known as a Gestalt Drive and that mode will last for a few minutes before the child would be on the floor in a deep sleep for the rest of the day. Every time a summon was called fourth, the student who would be responsible for that wretched possession would enter a sleep far deeper then the last. Caetuna was an expert on summoning. As the most senior L'cie of the whole entire campus, Caetuna was capable of calling fourth a thousand God of Wars. That was particularly the main reason why she looked older beyond her given age.

 

Caetuna was a skilled summoner; maybe no where near the great ones such as High Summoner Braska from the history books but Caetuna definitely had an equally great story to narrate should a book be written in her honor.

 

Kurasame paused in his steps. Perhaps the reason why he hated the art of summoning was because he couldn't bear to see his student in that vulnerable state of forced slumber. He remembered how Sice went mad when Seven wouldn't wake up and had defiantly refused to leave the girl's bedside, denying food and water until Seven was wide awake.

 

As much as he hated it, he was unable to avoid skipping the topic altogether. Summoning a creature might be the very thing that would save one of his students one day. That one day could be any day now. War thinned out the line between life and death. One could die at any given moment now.

Kurasame snapped out of his thoughts when his Tonberry pet nudged him with the blunt end of it's knife.

 

Without further ado, he proceeded straight to his form class. Upon hearing the large heavy wooden door open, his class scrambled back to their respective seats.

 

"Class, stand up." Queen's calm voice pierced across the chilly classroom.

 

The class stood up obediently as their instructor made his way towards his desk at the front of the class.

 

"Greet." Queen's voice rang out again the moment Kurasame was behind his desk.

 

"Good morning, Kurasame-sensei." Class Zero chimed out with mixed reactions.

 

Some of them were sleepy, some of them were happy and some of them were emotionless, far too mentally gone to be saved.

 

"Good morning, class." Kurasame replied. "Please, sit down."

 

The class sat down, Kurasame dumped his books to the polished surface of his desk, his Tonberry started inspecting the classroom for any signs of vandalism or dirt (Class Zero had a strict duty roster) and lessons began without any further ado.

 

**xXx**

Training was often a frustrating and edgy topic between Eight and Kurasame. The only weapon Eight agreed on utilizing was his own two fists. There was a period of time when he was heavily wounded with a broken arm and even so, he refused to take along a simple sword with him. There was simply no other way around the boy's phobia of weapons.

Kurasame felt that he had failed him when Eight broke down behind the empty classroom's closed doors.

The conversation was simple.

 

When questioned Eight's fear and dislike for weapons, Eight would simply remain silent.

Caetuna had reprimanded him against prying so Kurasame left him alone.

 

"Sir, I wish to speak to you."

 

It surprised Kurasame when Eight came over to speak to him late one night. It was close to supper and Eight had skipped his meal again just so that he could speak to the older man in the staff room. The instructor of Class Zero placed his pen down beside his snoozing Tonberry pet on the desk and nodded at Eight.

 

"I want to apologize to you over the...issue pertaining weaponry." Eight looked at him straight in the eye. "I feel that it is fair you should know the reason behind my act."

 

Kurasame broke the silence between them, gesturing for his student to carry on.

 

"My father shot my mother down using a gun." Eight had obviously been rehearsing for this speech. He voiced it with calmness and posture of a grown up man but Kurasame could see that his eyes was starting to water up.

 

"He...my father I mean," Eight continued. "We weren't so rich."

 

Kurasame held his gloved hand up, signaling for the boy to stop. "You don't have to tell me the story behind what triggered your phobia of firearms."

 

Eight shook his head. "I insist."

 

The masked instructor looked at his student. "Very well then."

 

"My family wasn't so rich. After my father was retrenched from his job as a result of the spiraling economy, we've always been dirt poor." Eight explained. "My older brothers would take up odd jobs in the streets for extra rations."

 

With every bit of past Eight revealed, Eight felt much more venerable. He felt like a victim of rape, being forced out of his uniform at gunpoint. Upon being discovered by the cops, the victim; incapable of speech and coherent thoughts, began to strip in hopes that they would be understood better in this manner.

 

Kurasame wanted to stop him but felt that he had no right to do so. This young man wanted to confide in someone older. Someone, whom he felt, could understand him. Someone who was entrusted with his life. That someone; was Kurasame.

 

"War made things horrible for us." Eight continued. "Our rations would barely feed us and our father was struggling to keep a roof over our head-"

 

Eight paused in mid sentence. Afraid. He was afraid.

 

"I..I.."

 

Kurasame maintained his expression. "Your father instilled that fear of weapons."

 

"He shot my brothers down one by one. My mother told me to run." Eight whispered, trembling. "He ….just…lost it and…"

 

Eight lost his family completely. A weapon took them away from the world of the living.

 

Weapons that rendered life worthless far too easily. Tools that took away lives with very little effort.

 

The only thing Kurasame could do was to pull the trembling student into a fatherly embrace. Never in his life did Kurasame felt extremely worthless.

In the end, weapons or not, they were all sacrificial lambs, dancing with death. 


End file.
